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Clint Barton had always believed soulmates were a load of bullshit. There were too many variables, too many miles that stretched across the planet, too many seconds ticking by. What if someone didn’t deserve a soulmate? What did someone do to deserve a soulmate that didn’t deserve them? In Clint’s line of work, he had met plenty of people who didn’t deserve soulmates, but, according to the laws of the universe, they had one.
Clint’s first experience, however, with someone who didn’t deserve their soulmate, was with his own parents. His father was a monster, his mother was a bystander. She didn’t do anything to stop the abuse Clint suffered, but she sure as hell didn’t deserve any of her own. If someone was your soulmate, why would they want to hurt you?
But really, Clint’s whole issue with soulmates was that they were your fate. You were perfect for each other, destined to be together. So why, then, was Clint born with his soulmark silver and faded, like an old scar. As soon as he was old enough to understand, they sadly told him his soulmate was dead.
That was really when all the soulmate bullshit was cemented in his mind as ridiculous. Why did Clint’s future point to a dead man? Soulmates were supposed to meet and be perfect for each other. It looked to Clint like his book was missing the last few pages. He was a compass without a magnetic north. It looked to Clint like he had no future, nothing was set in stone. So, of course, when someone lacks a direction but their gear shift is stuck in drive, they join the circus.
The circus was freeing. He was surrounded by people who were different. People who didn’t give a damn about soulmates, people who were more than just the words they were born with. Soulmates had created a listless generation, if you asked Clint. No one was searching for anything anymore. People just expected things to come.
But knowing his soulmate was dead was almost a little too freeing. Clint didn’t need to be good for his soulmate. He didn’t need to be deserving of someone’s love. Clint fell into a bad crowd, pulled under by his brother. He lost his hearing, his clean ledger, and maybe even a little piece of himself along the way. He was a boat floating freely away from the docks, except a storm was brewing and soon he would be whisked off to be dashed upon the rocks.
His saving grace came in the form of an invitation. More accurately, an arrest, which led to an invitation. He joined SHIELD, became a spy, tried to scrub his ledger clean. Sometimes, when his mind got dark and his rational thoughts sluggish, he wondered who he was getting better for. What was a life worth living if there was no one to share it with? It took him a few years of just going through the motions before he realized he was doing it for himself. And suddenly, it wasn’t like he was a puppet on stings anymore.
He met Natasha, probably the closest to a soulmate he’d ever get, and they figured things out together. Her own soulmark had been erased, scrubbed off by Red Room handlers that didn’t want her getting distracted.
Clint was over the death of his soulmate. He had decades to mourn what was no more than a possibility. That didn’t make things any easier, however, when he reached across the kitchen island to snag a cup of coffee when Nat noticed something that changed his life.
“What’s that?” She demanded. Clint looked to see where she stared. His sleeve had pulled back as he reached, exposing his forearm to the morning light.
“What?” He asked. Before he had a chance to look for himself, Natasha was snatching his arm, yanking the sleeve back, and looking closer.
“Your words, Clint, they’re black.”
“What? They can’t be. People don’t just come back from the dea—” Clint’s mouth snapped shut. Stark, black letters ran down his forearm in messy scrawl, tracing over lines that had once been faded.
Apparently, Clint’s soulmate was a fucking zombie.
---
Bucky Barnes had always felt a little awkward about his soulmark. When he was born, like many children, his soulmark was light and pink, like a freshly healed scar. It meant your soulmate hadn’t been born yet. This was a normal occurrence for the first few years of a person’s life.
But as Bucky got older, and his soulmark never darkened, things began to get a little weird. The older Bucky got, the more uncomfortable he felt with having it out.
Bucky was twenty when he decided on two major things. One, something was wrong with his soulmark. It was defective or something, because the age gap kept growing and there was no way Bucky’s soulmate was going to be a fucking baby while he was a semi-functioning adult. Two, he was going to start covering up the soulmark because it wasn’t worth the weird looks he got.
Then, the war started, and soulmates didn’t matter too much. What mattered was making sure Stevie was going to be set and ok while he was shipped out, and later, after Steve’s dumb ass signed up to be a military guinea pig, it was making sure his big dumb heart didn’t get him into too much trouble. He still kept it covered, easy with the uniform, and the letters never darkened.
Then, everything had gone to hell. The capture, the experiments, the rescue, the death, all practically hit the reset button on Bucky Barnes’s head. (It was the damn chair that literally hit the button, but Bucky didn’t like to think about that.) And soon, the word soulmate didn’t mean much of anything anymore.
The HYDRA agents hadn’t bothered with the soulmark too much. It was still as pink and fresh as it had been the day he’d been born, kicking and screaming, and they figured why bother with the extra programming if the damn thing hadn’t even been born yet. Plus, if they found it, they could use it to influence their soldier more.
Things were a little blurry after that. He remembered everyone he’d killed, but the details got a little foggy. Guess that happens when you stick a whisk in someone’s brainmatter and stir it up for a few decades.
When HYDRA had to go undercover, they threw him on ice. He still doesn’t know how long he was under or how long he was the soldier, but he guesses they just so happened to defrost him the exact moment a certain blond was reaching out for his morning coffee.
---
Spending your whole life getting used to a dead soulmate was nothing like suddenly finding out they had come back from the dead. The rest of the first day the words darkened, Clint felt jittery and anxious. He didn’t want to leave his apartment and couldn’t stay still. In the end, it took Natasha throwing him on the couch, turning on Dog Cops, and sitting on him to make him calm down.
Honestly, Clint was kind of angry. What right did his soulmate have to just resurrect themselves?
Don’t be mistaken. Finding out his soulmate was now alive didn’t suddenly make Clint believe he had a new purpose in life. After the first week of getting used to the smudge of black, he decided to ignore it. A boycott of soulmates, if you will. Clint had his life figured out. He was an adult, he had his dog, he had his coffee, and he had his new family. What right did his soulmate have just deciding to reenter an equation he was never part of?
For a whole year, Clint ignored the soulmark. Luckily, the words “Call me James” gave him a massive indicator to who his soulmate was, so Clint, for a whole three-hundred and sixty-five days, staunchly avoided anyone named James. He kind of felt bad for practically running away from James from IT, but this was self-care.
It had been exactly three-hundred and sixty-six days when Captain American brought his old friend to the tower.
Clint knew about Bucky Barnes. Clint knew about Bucky Barnes. Bucky Barnes had been one of Clint’s first celebrity crushes and he was determined not to fuck up their first meeting.
A small welcoming committee formed before Barnes’s arrival. Clint, of course, along with Natasha, Wanda, and Bruce all waited in the communal floor, anticipating the soft hiss of elevator doors.
“It’s going to be fine, Buck,” Steve’s voice carried through the hall. The welcoming committee attempted to look casual, pretending they weren’t all waiting around. There was a grumbled response that no one was able to pick up before the hallway ended and Captain America and the Winter Soldier were spat out into the living room.
Clint watched Bucky carefully study everyone in the room. First starting with Natasha, then slowly sliding over the rest. Bucky silently regarded Natasha again and Clint’s hands twitched. Nat had told him about their history, but he was slightly worried seeing her would send Barnes back into his Soldier headspace and they’d all be done for. But instead, Nat stepped forward, extending a hand.
“It’s nice to see you again under these circumstances,” she said. Barnes grabbed it firmly and nodded back. “This is Wanda, that’s Bruce,” she gestured to each, “and this is Clint Barton.” She looked at Clint in the way that always made him break out in a cold sweat. It was the look she always wore when she was about to be proven right.
“Hello, Sargent Barnes,” Bruce said, giving Bucky a warm smile. Clint wasn’t sure what possessed him, but as soon as Bruce called him Sargent Barnes, he cleared his throat, shooting Bruce a look.
“Sorry,” Wanda apologized, returning Clint’s look. “We realize Sargent Barnes is a little outdated. What would you prefer to be called?”
Bucky Barnes met Clint’s gaze squarely. What Wanda meant is Clint had wanted to give Bucky the chance to choose, something he hadn’t been able to do for a while.
Almost as if he was only talking to Clint, Bucky opened his mouth to respond.
“Call me James.”
Clint made a noise like he was about to swallow a ping pong ball. Nat’s grin grew wide and catlike, but not surprised. Clint could feel the words along his arm heat up. This what it. This was what he had been avoiding. But for some reason, when actually confronted with the source of all his anxiety for the past year, he felt a strange sense of acceptance and excitement. Of course, with Clint’s luck his zombie soulmate just had to be the man behind his gay awakening. Without thinking, he opened his mouth and proceeded to stick his whole foot in it.
“Glad to see you’re not one of those gross looking zombies.”
James’s eye widened.
“You?”
“Me?”
“C’mere!” Clint wasn’t sure how to respond. Luckily, Nat did, and she shoved him forward. He went tumbling, tripping over his feet. James caught him, helping him upright.
“I guess this would’ve been a better opportunity to tell you I fell for you?” Clint asked, because really, he did feel bad about making James walk around with Glad to see you’re not one of those gross looking zombies on his arm.
“Darling, I’ve waited almost a hundred years for you. Anything you could’ve said is perfect.”